Sierra Cartwright - Doms of Dark Haven

Would she laugh during sex? He'd given her intense; how about playful? He shoved the question aside. “Now, who would you like to meet?”

Rona chatted with an older dom named Michael in the great room. During the past hour, she'd wandered around, just observing the interesting scenes going on.

Master Simon had scattered BDSM equipment over the entire first floor for the party. Tables and spanking benches with various forms of restraints were in the living and dining rooms, a massive St. Andrew's cross stood in the center of his great room. The large granite-countered kitchen held a stockade, and chains dangled from the exposed beams. All set up to entice people to play.

So, dammit, why couldn't she find a dom who was half the man Master Simon was? Whenever he entered the room, she could feel his presence—a shimmering aura of power. His gaze would sweep the room and settle on her. He'd look her over so thoroughly, she'd feel the heat rise in her cheeks. And then he'd turn away.

Leaving her alone, as he'd promised.

That was what she wanted, right? She really did need to have a few more men on her string before indulging in hot, roaring sex with him. Just the thought made her mouth dry. Bad sign, Rona.

Time to jump into the party spirit and stop stalling. She smiled at the man beside her. Maybe she'd start with him.

“Doms.” Master Simon's voice filled the room, making her breath hitch. “If you are not occupied, I need assistance judging the first contest. Any uncollared elves who are not busy, please line up here.”

A contest? Great. Unless he planned something intellectual, she'd surely lose.

She hesitated.

A hand closed on her arm, and she looked up at the gray-haired dom beside her.

Michael frowned at her. “Simon might have said 'please,' but it wasn't a request, sub; it was an order.” He pulled her across the room to Master Simon.

“She wanted to think it over before obeying,” Michael said and let her go.

“Really.” Master Simon's eyes darkened with displeasure.

Oh Crom . “I don't like contests. I lose,” she said hurriedly. Why did his disapproval make her chest tighten and her stomach sink? She looked down.

“I see.” He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Unfortunately, your opinion doesn't count, does it.”

He hadn't really asked a question, but she answered anyway. “No.”

His fingers flexed on her chin just enough to remind her of her manners.

“No, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir.”

“Much better.” He released her. “Join the others.”

As she took her place at the end of the line, he said, “This submissive contest is for general friendliness and service.” He grasped the first sub by her nape and asked the crowd, “If this pretty elf either gave you her name or served you in any way, please raise your hand.”

Seven hands lifted, mostly dommes'.

Rona bit her lip as uneasiness twisted her insides. Concentrated on getting her bearings, she'd spoken casually with a few doms but hadn't introduced herself.

Soon she realized the other elves had stayed very busy, serving drinks and food, giving back rubs, foot rubs, or playing with a dom as requested. Very few hadn't done much; unfortunately, she was one of them.

Master Simon gripped the back of her neck firmly, pulling her a step closer to him. She shivered as his hard chest brushed against her shoulder and his warm, rich scent surrounded her. He asked the crowd, “And this sub?”

Only Michael lifted his hand.

“Ah. Well, she is just in training, after all. Please help her out and put her to work, gentlemen.” His hand dropped away. “All elves who earned more than five raised hands, you've done well. You're dismissed. The rest of you slackers, remove one article of clothing and leave it on the table there.”

When three-quarters of the subs dispersed, Rona sighed in relief. At least she wasn't the only slacker. Remove something . Well, she hated wearing hats anyway.

Her hand had just touched the fuzzy cap when Master Simon added casually, “I should mention that if I find an elf without an elf cap, I will toss her out on the street…naked.”

Rona snatched her hand away and heard him chuckle. Crom, she didn't have much to choose from. Maybe she could remove her bra in the powder room?

“You have ten seconds, and then we'll all help.”

Maybe she didn't like Master Simon after all.

“Ten. Nine—”

Jaw clenched, Rona unbuckled and pulled her belt off.

“One.”

She tossed the belt on the table. Lacking buttons, her Santa coat fell open, displaying her very skimpy bra and thong. She'd have to hold it shut all night. That jerk.

Looking around, she saw one elf must have waited too long. Three doms had surrounded her and were stripping her of clothing. Rona bit her lip, trying to decide if she'd find that exciting or frightening. She rubbed her chilled hands on her coat.

“Rona,” Master Simon said.

“Sir?”

“Please take a filled tray from the kitchen and serve drinks until it's empty.”

Cool. Something active to do. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

He grinned.

In the kitchen, when she picked up the tray, she understood his amusement.

Holding the tray required both hands, and now she couldn't hold her coat shut. “You bastard,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?”

She whirled so suddenly that the drinks sloshed.

“Did I mention the rule about speaking without permission?” His eyes glinted with laughter.

“Yes, Sir.”

He smiled slowly. “You're penalized one ribbon.” Reaching over her tray of drinks, he tugged on the ribbon serving as the left strap for her bra. The bow came undone, and he pulled the ribbon out of the grommets.

Held up on only one side, her bra sagged, exposing her left breast.

Still holding the tray, she looked up at him.

“I like that helpless look,” he murmured and ran his fingers down her neck to her bared breast.

Her attempt at retreat only backed her into the kitchen island. Trapped between it and him, she stared over his shoulder as he stroked her breast, circling the peak with one finger. She could feel her nipple pebbling under his confident touch. How it ached.

A gentle pinch made her jump; the glasses chimed on the tray. Her eyes jerked up, and he held her gaze as his fingers teased her nipple. When he squeezed the tip, a hot sizzle shot straight to her groin. Her fingers locked on the tray as he increased the pressure—as her excitement skyrocketed.

His eyes crinkled. “We need to get you into a scene before you explode,” he said softly. He brushed his lips over hers and stepped back. “Go serve, lass. If you find someone you'd like to top you, I'll release you from your duty.”

As she walked through the rooms, everyone greeted her politely. Some took a glass; some ignored the drinks and made themselves free with her body, running their hands over any exposed skin. The air around her grew increasingly warm.

In the living room, she spotted Michael talking to two tough-looking doms in black leathers. A redheaded sub knelt on the floor between their chairs.

“Rona.” Michael waved her closer. “This is Logan”—he nodded toward the dom with steel blue eyes and dark brown hair—“his sub, Rebecca, and his brother, Jake.”

Jake looked as hard and lean as his brother but had a nasty scar across his tanned forehead that his thick hair couldn't hide. He considered her for a long moment, then cocked a brow. “That's a nice elf costume, blondie.”

Uncertain as to how she should address them, she said, “I'm pleased to meet you, Sirs.”

“Your arrival is timely.” Michael grinned. “We're arguing about where a woman's legs are the most sensitive. I think it's behind the knee. Jake says just below the ass.”